Walk in the Woods
by cathypauline
Summary: Old friends of MacGyver's are thrown off balance by Sam's arrival in the picture... and it doesn't help that MacGyver has *always* been more than a little mysterious. A walk in the woods turns dangerous when the group runs into one of MacGyver's old enemies... and discover he has a price on his head.
1. Chapter 1

It was with trepidation that MacGyver pulled up to the cabin on the lake. Of course he'd been invited- for two weeks of camping "with the boys"- but Chuck and Neil didn't know he was bringing a sixth member to join their party.

Mac's childhood friends Chuck and Neil had already arrived the night before at Neil's cabin with their sons. Chuck's son Danny had been shot three years before, in an incident involving the local drug pushers, and MacGyver had saved his life. Neil's son Sean, Danny's friend, had been the cause of the trouble. Since that trouble, Mac had managed to visit Minnesota and his friends and their sons for at least a few days of camping and fishing every year. This year they'd planned two weeks, now that both boys were back from their first year of college.

MacGyver parked his motorcycle beside Neil's truck. Sam pulled his sleek silver machine next to him. They'd been on the road together for only a few weeks, since MacGyver's broken arm had finished healing. Two months before, MacGyver hadn't known he had a son. He was still getting used to the idea.

"Ready?" Sam asked, unfastening the chin strap of his helmet. They'd been through this before: M introducing his son to his friends; the inevitable shock. It was never a _comfortable_ experience.

"MacGyver!" Danny called from the lake trail, Sean beside him. "We heard you come in."

"Who's your friend?" Sean asked. He stopped, surprised, when Sam pulled off his helmet.

"This is Sam. He's nineteen, same as you. Sam, meet Danny and Sean. "

"Hey, man, good to meet you." Danny stuck out his hand in easy greeting.

"Yeah," Sean echoed, a little more off-balance. Sam's generous smile, though, seemed to put him at ease. "Cool bike. How long you been riding?"

"We've been on the road a couple weeks now, from L.A. But I got the bike last year, when I turned eighteen."

"Your parents got it for your birthday?"

"Nope, bought it with my earnings."

"Sam's a professional photojournalist," Mac put in.

"You brought a journalist, MacGyver?" Chuck's jesting voice came from behind, as he and Neil emerged from the woods. "Are you expecting us to make news, this trip?" His grin turned to surprise when he saw Sam's face.

Neil raised his brows. "Either you're the youngest journalist I've seen, or you have an enviably young face." He smiled. "I'm Neil Ryder, this is Chuck Thompson. Looks like you've met the boys?"

"He's same age as us, Dad," Sean put in. "His name's Sam."

"Sam-?" Neil began.

"Sean A. Molloy, sir. Sam is what everyone calls me, for my initials."

"No way! I'm Sean Andrew. Andrew was my Granddad. How about you?"

Sam hesitated, glancing at MacGyver, who shrugged. "Angus, for my father."

Chuck and Neil shot stares at their old friend. Danny, not seeing, said, "Angus? That's kind of…"

Sam grinned. "Unusual? Old-fashioned? Definitely not my favorite."

"His mother loved it," MacGyver said lamely, avoiding his friends' openly assessing glares.

"Funny," Chuck said ominously, "I don't know too many guys with the name Angus. And you knew his mother, A.J.? How did you keep her from using it?"

MacGyver winced at hearing his childhood nickname. "By calling her Katherine every time she tried. She hated that—she preferred Kate."

"A.J.?" Danny asked, cottoning on.

"It's what we called him in elementary school," Neil answered. "A.J., for Angus James. Your father came up with that, didn't he, Mac?"

"Yeah, that was his name for me. After he died I just didn't want to hear it anymore."

Sam cleared his throat. "So, I hope you don't mind that my Dad brought me along. We would have called to ask, but we were on the road, and we only got your message last night."

"Too late to catch you," MacGyver added.

"Not at all, Sam," Neil said smoothly. "You – and your _father_," he added meaningly, "are both welcome. Sean, do you want to show Sam around the cabin? I'm sure he'd like to freshen up after his long ride."

"Uhh… sure… Come on, Sam. Can I carry a bag for you?"

Sam raised his brows at his father, who waggled his fingers at him to go on ahead. Mac knew that Neil and Chuck wouldn't let him rest until they got more of an explanation.

"Thanks, Sean, but I'll get them later."

"Yeah," Danny said, glancing at the older men. The three youth headed down the trail. MacGyver heard Danny ask, as they turned the corner, "So MacGyver's really your Dad?" He smiled ruefully. No matter how he tried to keep a low profile, he always managed to inspire curiosity: one of the hazards of having too many professional secrets.

"So?" Chuck asked, arms crossed, head tilted expectantly.

"So…" Mac hedged, stalling.

"So where did this boy come from," Neil asked bluntly, "and how come you never told us you had a son?"

MacGyver met Neil's stare with calm. "His mother was Kate Molloy. We dated as college seniors. We graduated. She went to work in Brazil; I started my own work overseas. We sent occasional letters. I never saw her again."

"I can't believe… You, of all people, would leave a girl…" Chuck started.

"She never told me. All right? She never told me. Sam and I happened into each other about two months ago, now."

"You said his mother _was_..." Neil began slowly.

"She died," Mac said shortly. "Ten years ago."

"And Sam was raised by…"

"Friends of hers. Colleagues. Now one else knew how to find me; she hadn't told anyone."

"Why not?" Chuck asked.

Mac sighed. "That's a long and complicated story. Do you mind if I use the facilities before launching into it?"

His friends chuckled. "Sure," Neil answered, "go ahead. We have two weeks to catch up. If you can stay?"

"I was planning to," Mac confirmed.

"Not that we're going to let you off the hook that long," Chuck teased.

The tension was broken. MacGyver grinned. "Speaking of hooks, there's fish in that lake with my name on 'em. Do I at least get this afternoon?"

Neil laughed. "Oh, go on." He pushed Mac playfully and fell in beside him on their way down the trail.

Six hours later, they lounged around a campfire at the lakefront, eating fresh trout and bluegill coal-baked in tin foil with wild onion, and watching the sun go down over the forest. Sam had done plenty of fishing growing up – in lakes, brooks, rivers, and oceans all around the world – but he'd never spent time in the backwoods of Minnesota, and he was more than happy to let Danny and Sean show him the ins and outs of this particular lake, which they'd fished since they were old enough to hold rods. MacGyver spent the day as a lazy fisherman, resting on the bank and reminiscing – watching the boys reminded him of his childhood, and time spent in the woods with friends and family, with nothing better to do than lie beside the water, observing the clouds scudding by and the social lives of birds, waiting for a bite. Still, come supper time the crew had caught more than enough for a hearty meal for six, even without supplements from Neil's food stores in the cabin.

Danny stretched, leaning back against a log that served as camp furniture, his tin plate beside him holding scraps and bones. Then he settled down, hands pillowing his head against the rough wood. Sean, who'd finished first, was fooling around with an acoustic guitar, quiet plinking making a pleasant background noise.

"So Sam, tell us about yourself," Danny asked.

Sam, just picking clean his fourth bluegill, asked, "what do you want to know?"

"Where'd you grow up? Where'd you go to school?"

"Grew up all over the place. School was sort of catch-as-catch-can. Kinda complicated."

Neil chuckled. "You sound like your father."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mac asked from his seat against a large boulder. He was fussing with the fire, a long stick in one hand.

"Come on, Mac," said Chuck, "You never answer a question about yourself straight. Never any details, always _kinda complicated_. We still have no idea what you've been doing with most of your adult life."

"Don't mean to be mysterious," MacGyver said.

"All over the place where?" Danny persisted.

Sam grinned. "You want the long version or the short version? I warn you, the long version is _really_ long."

"Start with the short version."

"Name a country, and I've probably spent some time there. I've spent months at a time here in the states, in various parts of the country. After that, I've probably spent the most time in China. Mom had a long-term assignment there, as a photojournalist."

"You speak Chinese?" Neil asked.

"Pretty well."

"So how did you do school?" Danny asked.

"A combination of embassy schools, military base schools, home schooling, correspondence courses... As I got older I'd often audit classes at whatever college was nearby. But mostly I taught myself, or leaned on whoever was handy to teach me what I wanted to know."

"Sounds lonely," Neil said.

"Yes and no." Sam shrugged. "I met a lot of great people, and I learned a lot. There wasn't much continuity. Still, I think that suited me pretty well."

"Just you and your mother?" Danny asked. "She sounds pretty amazing. What's she doing now?"

Sam dropped his eyes; set his plate on the ground, as though suddenly having lost his appetite. "She's dead," he said shortly.

"I'm sorry…" Danny said quietly.

Sam shrugged. "It's been a long time…" His voice trailed off, gaze caught by the fire.

The fire popped and hissed. Neil looked from Sam to MacGyver, who was staring sadly at his son.

"Play for us, MacGyver," Neil said. "Give him the guitar, Sean."

Sean handed the guitar to MacGyver.

"I –"

"Come on, Mac. I know you play beautifully."

"Tolerably, you mean. Neil, I haven't practiced in ages."

"Stop playing modest and give us a song," Chuck chided. "Honestly, MacGyver, loosen up a little. We're your friends; no one here is going to castigate you for a few dropped chords."

MacGyver opened his mouth as though to argue, but thought better of it. He crossed his legs, cradling the guitar, and checked the tuning, making minor adjustments. Then, glancing at Sam, he began to play: a sad, sweet finger-picked melody. Sam settled back against the log beside Danny. Slowly the mood relaxed. One after another Mac played them, barely finishing one before launching into another: his own compositions mixed with songs he'd picked up over the years. The others listened, not interrupting. Mac had forgotten how rewarding it could be to play to an attentive audience of friends. Eventually, though, his softened calluses began to trouble him; he finished one last tune and stopped; leaned against the boulder behind him with the guitar resting on his abdomen, his hand stilling the strings.

"Thank you, MacGyver," Neil said serenely.

"That was great, man," Danny agreed.

"Wasn't so bad, was it?" Chuck smiled. "And now I'm ready for bed. My aging bones don't take well to sitting on the ground half the night."

"Yeah," Mac agreed. "Thanks, Sean." He handed back the guitar. Then he picked up his stick and knocked apart the dying embers.

Sam hung back to speak with him.

"That was beautiful," he said quietly. "Will you teach me to play?"

"Sure, Sam. Though a guitar is not the easiest thing to carry on a motorcycle."

"We'll figure something out," Sam said, his voice light. They entered the cabin.

Mac woke when a pillow hit his face.

"Come on, MacGyver, how long are you going to sleep?" Neil asked.

Mac covered his eyes with one arm. "For as long as I can get away with it."

"Chuck's been out on the water for hours, questing for a record-breaking muskie. The boys are up and eating. If you want any breakfast you'd better get up now, because it's disappearing fast."

"Breakfast? You said the magic word." MacGyver threw open his sleeping bag and stretched. He'd spent the night on one of the camp mattresses Neil kept stacked in a corner of the cabin. It was quick work to stow it and his bedding before stumbling to the table.

Sam laughed when he saw his father. "Dad, your hair's sticking straight up again."

"Good morning to you, too. Food first, then grooming. It's a matter of priorities." He took plate and fork from the stacks on the counter and shoveled on pancakes and eggs.

"I don't know how you can eat so much and stay so thin," Neil said from behind the stove.

"Genetic inheritance," MacGyver answered. Then he sat down and focused on eating.

The boys were gathered around one corner of the table, talking and eating. Neil sat down next to MacGyver, his own plate much lighter than his friend's. "Have you decided what you want to do yet?" he asked his son.

"We're gonna hike up Pine Peak," Sean answered in his gravelly voice. "We'll need lunch and day packs."

"There's cold cuts in the fridge," Neil answered. "Don't forget to bring plenty of water."

"We have done this a few times before, Dad," Sean said, rolling his eyes.

"Really? I must be remembering some other kid who forgot his canteen last year." He smiled. "Sam, we have extra day packs in the closet if you need one."

"Thanks Mr. Ryder, I have my own."

"Just call me Neil, son. No need to be formal here. More pancakes? I think we might actually have extra."

"Thanks."

"You eat like your father, but I reckon we brought more than enough to keep us."

"I'm still growing, and I intend to at least reach six feet before I'm done. Mom was five foot eleven."

"Heaven forbid you can't at least pass your mother's height," Neil jested. "She set a high bar, though."

"Not as high as my Dad. He makes me feel like a shrimp."

"I'll try to slouch for you," MacGyver teased.

Danny organized sandwich making at the counter while Sean pulled equipment out of a messy back closet. Sam soon joined Danny in putting together lunches. MacGyver, finally slowing down, watched the chaos with amusement.

"Another fifteen minutes, I'd guess," Neil predicted. "Then they'll get a hundred yards down the trail and remember something else they wanted."

"Did you have plans for today?" MacGyver asked.

"Me? No. Chuck, of course, has plans for fishing. Muskies at dawn, bass in the early hours, and scrappies. And anything else he can snag. He'll have us out in the dory an hour after he gets back, I'd bet my boots."

MacGyver grinned. He plucked an apple from the bowl in the center of the table and leaned back, pushing his empty plate away. The apple was tart; he was down to the core before the boys assembled at the door.

"We'll be back by dinner," Danny told the adults. "We'll stay out of trouble if you do."

"Have a good hike," Neil said. "Brats. Get out of here." He watched, smiling, as the young men set out. When they had vanished from sight beyond the trees visible from the window, he turned to MacGyver. "So. What's it like suddenly finding yourself a father?"

Mac stood and gathered the dirty dishes. "Fun. Disconcerting at times."

"Like?"

"In some ways he reminds me of his mother. In others… it's like looking in a mirror. But he's still Sam, he's not like anyone I know, and I'm constantly learning more about him. Does that make sense?"

"Sure it does. I'm still learning things about Sean, and he grew up with us. Sometimes—like his interest in art and music. That blossomed just in the last year or so, I never would have expected it. Have you seen his landscapes?" Neil pointed to a framed painting on the wall.

MacGyver shook his head.

"He started in high school, senior year—we were trying to find ways to get him involved in life again, after—you know. His teachers there and in college say he has real talent, real potential. Where that came from, I don't know."

"Maybe it grew out of that experience—the need to make sense of his life, during and after addiction."

"Yeah." Neil sighed. "Yeah. And that's another thing I never expected."

"You're still blaming yourself."

"It's hard not to. I keep asking, why didn't I see it?"

MacGyver turned on the tap, adding hot water to the soapy wash basin.

"I sometimes think… I dunno." Neil picked up his glass.

"What?"

Neil didn't answer—only stared into space, lost in thought. MacGyver eyed his friend over the dishes.

Finally Neil said, "Have you ever felt—like the important events in your life, in your childhood especially—they shape your life? Sometimes in good ways. Sometimes not."

MacGyver rinsed several dishes, reluctant to answer. "All the time."

"The incident when Jesse was killed."

"Yeah."

"I became a cop. Maybe I would have anyway… But maybe I was driven by guilt. Or that was part of it. The need to make amends, to make a difference."

"That's not so bad, is it?"

"No... But also I feel like… I drew away from people. You know? Not on an everyday level. On the deeper level. I find it hard to connect. I sometimes wonder if Jesse's death started that… that reluctance."

MacGyver played with the soapy water, aimlessly stirring.

"Chuck never seemed to have that problem."

"No. Funny, isn't it? Chuck became the guy who would share heart and soul with someone he met that day. And he never felt a need to pay a debt to society."

"Maybe that _was_ his way of paying off a debt."

Neil looked up. "Maybe." He studied MacGyver for a long moment. "What about you, Mac? How did it affect you? I mean, we all know how you started your crusade against guns…"

"Yeah." Mac stopped and looked out the window. The trail was empty: the boys hadn't returned for some forgotten item, as Neil had predicted. "I guess it affected me about the same as it affected you," he said. "That, and the other deaths," he added, almost too quietly to hear.

"Your Dad. Your grandmother. Your mother."

"Josh Beckett."

"Jeez, I'd forgotten that. The drunk driving death."

"A kid once called me… what was it? A runner. She said we were both running because of the deaths in our lives. It's hard to get close to people when you're running."

"Well, hell, all the girls you broke up with in high school, she's probably right," Neil chuckled. "We used to call you the 'lost cause'. Not that I blamed them for trying. You were a good-looking guy. You still are."

MacGyver's mouth quirked in embarrassment. He turned back to the dishes.

"Is that why you never stayed with Sam's mother? Why she didn't try to contact you?"

Mac was startled to find this question difficult, even painful, to answer.

The door swung open, and Chuck backed in, carrying a cooler. "The two of you missed a _perfect _morning for fishing. The weather was perfect, the fish were hungry... Luckily they're still biting. You _are _ready to come out on the water with me? " He swung the cooler around and dropped it on the floor, then looked up at Neil and Mac.

MacGyver leaned against the counter, looking down at the cooler. "Sure, I'm up for some boating and fishing. Did you get your record muskie, Chuck?"

Something of their conversation must have shown in their faces, because Chuck looked askance at his friend, then turned a questioning glance at Neil, who grimaced at Mac. "Should I come back later?" he asked.

"No," Mac said immediately. "We can continue this later..." He looked at Neil, who sighed.

"Don't you want to eat some breakfast first, Chuck?" Neil asked. "There's still some pancakes."

MacGyver turned back to the pile of dishes. "What about the muskie?"

"No muskie this time. The old granddad made off with my bait." Chuck grabbed a plate and pancakes and settled himself at the table.

Neil got up to empty the cooler into the fridge. "You might as well tell us the whole story while you eat," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

Striding along the trail at the back of the line, Sam admired the rugged landscape. Glacial-carved hills, the glimmer of the lake still sparkling through the trees-emerging into a stand of tamarack, he brushed the soft needles with his hands and looked up. The sky shone blue above, pierced by the rising crowns of deep green. Sam framed the picture in his mind's eye. Then, decided, he shrugged off his pack and pulled out his camera. A chickadee sang its two-toned song nearby: _he-ere. He-ere._ His shuttered clicked softly, sound damped by rich loam and vegetation.

"Sam? Sam..." Danny's voice was clear but distant.

"Coming!" Sam called back. He stowed his camera and shouldered his pack, jogging up the trail. The others were already walking on when he caught up.

"I'm sittin' at one of the tables with my basketball friends, right? So this girl, she comes up to us. She asks me ta dance," Sean was telling Danny. "But she looks more mad than interested, y'know what I mean? So I tell her, thanks, but no thanks. So she looks behind her, but she's still standin' there. And I'm tryin' not ta look at her. And my buddies, they're makin' eyes at me like, are you crazy? Cuz the girl's real good-lookin', y'know. But she's still just standin' there lookin' away, y'know? Tappin' her foot. And then suddenly she turns around and grabs me, just about smothers me with a kiss..."

Danny was already laughing. "What, she get in a fight with her boyfriend?"

"How'd ya guess, man?" Sean asked, laughing. "And the guy is HUGE! Freakin' linebacker, like. And my friends fallin' over each other laughin', 'cuz I'm tryin' ta beg off, tryin' to explain to the guy, and he's just LOOMIN' over us..."

"He didn't try to hurt ya, did he?" Danny asked, trying to control his laughter.

"No. But I think he was some kinda neanderthal, 'cuz he just grunted and walked out after the girl."

Sam grinned at the image.

"Hey, Sam," Danny asked, "you ever have a girl try to pick you up?"

Sam laughed self-consciously. "Not really, no."

"No way! " Sean said. "I'd think they'd be fallin' all over you, man, with your looks and your cool bike-"

"Dunno," Sam said, "guess I've never really hung out in a place that would happen."

Danny and Sean stopped in the middle of the trail, staring at Sam.

"You've never been out dancing?" Danny asked.

"Or partying?" Sean followed up.

"Well," Sam said, "I did go to a dance once, when I was fourteen or fifteen. One of the times I was attending school. But it was kind of a disaster." Sam scuffed his feet on the trail, remembering. It had been a big suburban high school stateside. Half the kids had been trying to figure out how to get drunk or stoned or into a dark corner with a kid of the opposite sex. The others were involved in their own cliques, and none of them had time for the quiet skinny new kid. "I guess in some ways I kinda went straight from age 9 to 19. I never really fit in with kids my own age."

"What happened?" Danny asked.

"I, um... got in the way of some older guys who were harrassing a girl. They decided to beat me up instead."

"Not too bad, I hope..." Sean said.

"Well, no beating is a good beating." Actually, they'd broken two of his ribs before he managed to trip the fire alarm with a well-aimed baseball. After that, his foster father had enrolled him at a gym and taught him to box. Sam remembered being told, if he felt the need to fight for justice, at least he could learn to fight.

"No, I suppose not," Danny snorted. "Look, if you can hang around a few extra days after this trip, I'll take you into the city, introduce you to some kids I know. You can have a proper night out."

Sam smiled a lopsided grin, both embarassed and honored. "Thanks," he said. "I'd like that."

"Over there, Mac."

"You sure? It's pretty swampy."

"I got a huge walleye there last year."

MacGyver pulled hard on the right oar, pulling them into weed-choked waters. Suddenly he stopped, allowing the boat to drift. "Shh… look."

Chuck turned around quietly, and Neil looked up from fly-tying, to follow Mac's pointing finger. Just beyond a fallen snag in the water, they could see the head and velvet antlers of a bull moose. Mac held his breath, watching the old gentleman dredge up vegetation for its meal. He eyed the intruders warily but not nervously with one huge brown eye. Long minutes passed: the three men moose-watching; the moose people-watching. Finally, with a quiet snort, he turned and made his stately way to shore, dredging his ten-foot-plus height out of the water and passing nearly silently into the woods. Mac sighed.

"A handsome beast, isn't he? I've seen him before, but never so close," Neil told them quietly.

They had drifted near a scrubby island; Mac pulled slowly on the left to bring them around. Chuck cast his line to _plink _in the perfect center of a space amongst the water lilies five yards away.

"Nice," Mac complimented him in a whisper. They sat for a while, Mac holding the boat steady with an occasional twitch of the oars, Neil and Chuck making cast after perfect cast. The faintest breeze rippled the water, setting the surface sparkling with reflected sunlight. Dragonflies and damselflies chased and danced; Mac saw more than one couple joined in flight, bright bodies and gossamer wings twined into an unlikely and ungainly-looking combination for aerodynamics. A warbler in a nearby tree called his warnings against trespassers.

"They don't seem to be hungry here this morning," Neil said finally. "Chuck, you okay with heading back?"

"Sure," Chuck said, "if you don't mind going back along the shore. Maybe I'll get lucky and snag a bass."

"No problem," Mac agreed. "Long way around okay with you?"

"No hurry," agreed Neil.

Mac pulled strong and slow, setting them on a steady pace toward deeper water, though still hugging the edge of the lake. Chuck pulled his line in and opened his tackle box to fix a new lure.

"Something I've been meaning to ask you," Neil said, stowing his gear.

"Yeah?" MacGyver asked.

"You know how Sharon's on the planning committee for our twenty-fifth reunion."

Mac nodded. Neil's wife Sharon had been on the planning committee for the prom when they'd been in high school; she organized events like a master chef putting together a five-course meal: as much artistry as skill.

"Well, you know Sharon; the reunion is still three years away but she's already getting the invitation list together. She was unhappy with how many addresses we were missing for the twentieth."

Mac smiled. He'd missed that high school reunion, but he could imagine Sharon taking offense at anything less than perfection; he could imagine her legendary diligence at work.

"Anyway, she asked me to check the national law enforcement database for a few of the names. One that I was able to help her find was Danny Barrett." Neil snapped closed his tackle box and squinted at Mac through the glare and sunlight.

Mac rested the oar handles on his lap. "Danny's been dead four years now."

"So I discovered. I found the police report: hit-and-run, possible vehicular homicide. The case was never closed. And your name was in there as an eyewitness."

"I'm sorry I never told you about it. I thought the obituary would run in the papers here; I didn't realize you wouldn't know."

"Danny Barrett's dead?" Chuck asked from the prow.

"Yeah."

"And you witnessed it," Neil said sympathetically.

"It was all over in a few seconds," Mac said quietly. "Danny never had a chance."

The three friends drifted in silence for several minutes, each lost in his own thoughts.

Neil was first to speak. "I want to know, MacGyver: Why?"

"He was investigating a series of diamond thefts. He traced the perpetrator, but he left a trail that the thief could trace back to him. The thief murdered him to keep him from getting any closer."

"That's what you reported to the police. The report also said that Danny suspected a diplomat. The same diplomat was deported less than two weeks later, but there's no explanation why."

"Yeah, well... he was caught red-handed with all the diamonds he'd stolen in front of his boss, the ambassador."

Neil eyed MacGyver thoughtfully. "Why do I get the feeling you had something to do with exposing him?"

"He managed to expose himself. I just… helped the process along."

"How?"

"That's… a long story," Mac said, not eager to delve into such a tangled tale.

"MacGyver," Chuck said warningly, "if it takes this entire vacation we're going to get at least one full story out of you. We have all day to talk; if it's a long one, you can just take your time getting us back to the cabin."

"We can always have sushi for lunch," Neil teased. "Chuck's a wizard with his carving knives, even afloat."

"Do you need something to wet your throat?" asked Chuck. "I have an unopened beer that's still cold—sort of."

"No thanks, I don't drink and row."

"I'll be the designated rower, then," Chuck answered, his voice light. "Or Neil will. I've already had one…"

"I really don't think— Chuck, I'm no good at telling stories." Mac threw a pleading look at Neil, who raised his brows.

"Sorry, Mac, you won't be getting any sympathy from this quarter."

MacGyver snorted and stared at the shoreline.

"He was our friend, too," Chuck said.

MacGyver sighed. The methods for that operation had been unorthodox, to say the least, and he needed to be careful not to expose the Phoenix Foundation's role in it—especially to Neil, who was a police officer. Still, his friends had a right to some sort of explanation: after all, as Chuck had pointed out, they had been Danny's friends too. "I… finished the job Danny started."

Silence followed this pronouncement. Then, "you said the thief was caught with the diamonds he'd stolen. How did that happen? Were you there?" Neil asked.

"I was," MacGyver said quietly. "He had them all in a briefcase."

"And you just happened to know this? And you were able to have him searched?" Neil asked skeptically.

"I… arranged for him to have the diamonds in that particular briefcase. It was rigged to open at an electronic signal. The diamonds spilled all over the ambassador's feet: he couldn't ignore _that_."

Chuck and Neil chuckled at the image. Then Chuck asked slowly, "MacGyver, what do you _do_ for a living?"

"A lot of different things."

"The FBI?" he asked.

Wary of getting too close to his classified past, Mac answered carefully, "I've… dealt with some of their agents."

"I still don't understand something," Neil asked. "Call it professional curiosity, but I'd really like to know: how did you get the thief to put all the stolen diamonds into a briefcase you provided?"

"He didn't realize at the time that they were diamonds he'd already stolen," MacGyver answered.

"A sting, then," Neil said.

"That's right," Mac answered.

"But how did you get the stolen diamonds for him to steal again?"

"That, I can't tell you," Mac answered. At least, he thought, not without admitting we were acting outside the law...

"What?" Neil objected.

"MacGyver!" Chuck sputtered at the same time.

"Are you done fishing, Chuck?"

"Mac—yeah, I'm done for now."

MacGyver set the oars in the oarlocks and pulled strongly, swinging the boat to point at the cabin. Neil studied his face as he rowed. MacGyver tried to settle his features into a serene mask, without success. He'd never been good at hiding his feelings from his friends. Now was no exception.

"You're hiding something," Neil pronounced as they docked. "Something you're embarrassed about, maybe even ashamed to tell us."

"I could use another breakfast, how about you?"

"MacGyver, did you do something illegal to expose that man?"

MacGyver leaned to pick up the cooler, ducking to hide his expression. Neil caught him by the shoulder.

"You did, I can see it in your face," he said flatly. "Let me guess: you stole the diamonds from that diplomat—probably right out of the embassy."

"C'mon Neil, how the heck would he do that?" Chuck asked. "Don't those places have tons of security?"

"Good question," Neil whispered, still staring at his friend. "Cat burglary isn't exactly amateur thieving. And I imagine a fortune in jewels would have been stored pretty securely."

MacGyver looked Neil in the eye. "What is it you're thinking? That I'm some sort of professional thief?"

It was Neil's turn to be embarrassed. "No! Mac, I didn't mean to suggest-"

"Nothing I did was for personal gain. Whatever I did, I did in the name of justice. Danny Barrett's _murderer_ was brought to justice. Isn't that enough?"

"I don't know: you won't tell me what happened! Look, I'm worried about you. You've always had an incredible capacity to get into trouble, just like Danny Barrett and Jack Dalton. It's just that usually you've had more sense than those two put together. Sometimes, though, you're like a dog after a bone: you set your mind on something and you won't give it up, no matter what your better judgment might be telling you."

MacGyver scuffed his foot on the dock. "You've already guessed a lot of it. Can you trust me when I say I can't give you the details? Can you let it go?"

"Why? Are you protecting someone?"

"Neil…" MacGyver complained. His friend had an uncanny ability to get to the truth: one which undoubtedly served him well as a cop.

"All right, all right, I'll let it go. I _do _trust you; I always have. I'm sorry I suggested otherwise."

"Hey, you don't need to apologize for caring."

"C'mon, you two," Chuck pushed between them. "You're standing between me and a cold beer. I suggest we move on. Except for one thing, MacGyver…" he looked at Mac expectantly.

"What?"

"You still owe us a story, of course. Now what should we do for lunch?"

Sam heard the rushing of water long before he saw it. He asked the others about it.

"Pine Creek," Danny answered. "It's spring-fed, and still some snow-melt, too. Cold this time of year." Then the trail climbed over a saddle and down, and the creek was running to their left: fast and shallow, it spread over the bare stone face, carving hollows, racing down in curves and sprays over the track it had worn for itself. Sam pulled off his pack and reached for his camera.

"Don't you want some lunch?" Danny laughed. He and Sean were dropping their packs by an old log at the edge of the trail.

"In a minute," Sam answered. The light wouldn't wait. He walked along the creek edge, looking for the right angle on the water. The splashes at his feet alerted him he would have to remove his hiking boots. He stooped and unlaced them with one hand, and threw them onto dry ground. He quickly discovered Danny was right: the water was ice cold. He rolled up his pants legs, and continued downhill, taking pictures as he went.

"You do nature photography?" Sean asked.

"Anything that interests me, really," Sam answered.

"What's the first picture you published?" Danny asked.

"A story on a village in Guatemala. Photos and text." Sam hopped to a dry boulder in the center of the creek, and crouched for a shot of a small whirlpool. Colors rippled on the surface.

"How old were you, man?" Sean asked.

"Thirteen," Sam answered.

"You did that yourself?" Dan asked.

"Gerry and Bea helped me put it together."

"How much did you make on it?" Sean asked.

"A lot for a kid." Sam turned and grinned at him. "Enough that I kept submitting." He looked downhill. "Are those caves down there?"

"Yeah," Danny answered. "They're not too deep, but they're fun to explore. We can go down there after lunch, if you want. The sun'll shine inside them this afternoon."

"It's cool," Sean said. "You'll like it."

"Alright," Sam agreed. He climbed back up to the log, snagging his boots on the way. Danny handed him a sandwich. He sat and ate slowly, watching the trees and listening to the other two trade college stories, comfortable in his usual role of eavesdropper. A woodpecker set up a loud rat-a-tat-tat. Squirrels chased each other up and over boughs, from tree to tree, chattering and scolding. Sam felt his father's love for these northern forests as his own. Danny and Sean fell quiet, listening to the silence beyond the ripple of water, the rustle of leaves.

"My Dad's been takin' me up here since I was born, man," Sean said quietly. "It never gets old." Danny nodded.

Sam smiled. "I can see why. How 'bout the rest of your family?"

"Mom comes up when she can. She's always busy, though. My little sister's sixteen, she doesn't want to come anymore."

"She will," Danny said.

"Yeah, well... Mom doesn't like leaving her home alone. Pisses her off... Lisa blames me. I suppose she's right."

"Blames you for what?" Sam asked.

"My parents being more protective of her. I messed up pretty bad, her age."

Danny slapped his friend's shoulder. "That's behind you, now." He turned to Sam. "So, who're Gerry and Bea?" Dan asked.

Sam hesitated before answering. He wasn't sure he was ready to explain his life story. It was complicated. And difficult.

"Journalist friends of my mother's." He looked downhill. "The light's almost to those caves..."

"We have time," Sean said, unconcerned.

They packed away the remains of lunch and shouldered their bags. Danny pulled off his boots, but Sean deferred. "You guys are crazy. That water is cold, man."

"Cold feet's better than wet boots," Danny said.

They stepped carefully down the smooth granite face, catching themselves in the wet hollows carved by the stream. After a few minutes, Sam's feet were nearly numb. He grinned at the sensation.

"You guys _are_ crazy," Sean called from the side of the stream. He had to weave through bushes to keep dry.

"Aw, c'mon Sean, live it up a little!" Danny laughed. He splashed the cold water at Sean.

"Whoa! Hey, that's not fair!" Sean laughed back. Danny splashed him again.

"Alright, that does it," Sean said, flummoxed by a tangle of greenery and boulders in his path. He sat down and pulled at the ties on his boots, ducking to avoid Danny's splashing. "Whoa! Watch it, Dan! You're gonna get it back!"

Sam, standing above the others, already had his camera out. The light on Danny's face was perfect. Sean leaped into the stream. Splashes flew. Sam's shutter clicked. He grinned. The two friends were soon soaked.

"Hey, Sean, wha'd'ya think? Sam getting off easy?" Danny stopped splashing, grinning wickedly.

"Better put that camera away," Sean warned.

Sam shrugged off his bag and stowed it, camera tucked inside, on the bank. Then he ran for the middle of the stream. He gasped when the water hit his face. "That's cold!" he yelled.

"_Oh_, yeah!" Danny agreed. They launched into a three-way free-for-all that only ended when they'd all fallen into the creek and were thoroughly soaked and laughing. They pulled on their discarded packs, picked up their shoes, and waded down to the caves.

"Ooh! I catch pneumonia, _you'll_ catch it, Danny!" Sean joked.

"From your mama? I'm _shiverin'_man!"

"I'm shiverin' fit to wake the dead," Sean shot back.

"Better watch out for zombies then," Danny joked.

Sam pulled out his camera. Danny had been right, the light down here was perfect, shining on the limestone formations. He edged around the corner for another angle; leaned way back. The other two played chase-and-hide in the dark corners. Sam got a good shot of Sean jumping out at Dan, before he turned back to the natural features of the cave. He figured he had another ten, fifteen minutes to make the most of the light. He wandered through the twists and turns, in and out of openings. The cave system followed the stream; most likely had been carved by it long ago. It was shallow and rounded, catching sunshine on soft golden curves. Sam crouched down, looking up at the light. A wider angle would be better... he backed up into a low hollow, snapping shots of the ceiling as the light failed.

A hand brushed his bare ankle. "Danny!" Sam shouted in surprise.

"What?" Danny called from the other end of the cave system.

"You okay, Sam?" Sean asked from the same direction, closer by.

"Umm..." Sam reached down hesitantly. If that touch wasn't either of his friends, he wasn't sure he wanted to know _what _it was. His hand brushed cold skin.

"Shit!" he yelled. He jumped out of the hollow.

"What is it, man?" Sean asked by his elbow. Sam jumped. "Just me. What's got you spooked?"

Sam gulped to slow his beating heart. "There's someone dead back there, man." He pointed into the hollow.

Sean's mouth worked. "You're puttin' me on," he said finally.

Sam pulled the flashlight from his pack. He knelt and flicked it on, shining it to the back of the hollow. It glinted off hair and skin.

"Shit," Sean echoed him.

"What?" Danny asked, coming up behind. He ducked to look. "Oh. Oh, yuck."

"Can't have been there too long," Sam said, finding calm. "It's not decomposed at all."

"How do you know?" Danny asked. Sam looked at him. "Oh. _That's_ why you yelled. Oh, yuck."

"We gotta get him out," Sam said, "and see what happened."

"We gotta get my Dad, is what we gotta do," Sean objected. "That's a probable crime scene."

"Are you sure he's dead?" Danny asked. He looked at Sam. Sam stared back.

"Not a hundred percent," he said.

"Great." Sean dropped his head between his knees. "Okay, we pull him out and check."

"I'll do it," Sam said. "First I better take a picture, though."

"Yeah," Sean agreed. "So the cops know how we found him."

Sam lifted his camera. _Click._ Then he stowed it in his bag on the floor, and crawled back into the hollow. He took hold of the hand sticking out and one shoulder, and heaved. The hand was cold and slightly stiff. Out in the open, he could see it was a young male, probably mid-twenties, slight build. He wore jeans and a t-shirt. His body was badly scratched where it had rubbed against the rock, but bore no other visible marks.

Danny felt for a pulse. "Nope, he's dead."

"Somebody must have stowed him back there," Sam said. "There's no way he wedged himself back there like that with one hand. The space is way too tight. Besides, looks like his nose was broken going in."

Sean shivered. "So there's a murderer around. I didn't wanna hear that."

"Or murderers," Danny agreed.

"And probably not too far away," Sam said. "That guy hasn't been dead more than a few hours."

"How'd he die, though?" Danny asked.

Sam bent over the corpse, looking. "Doesn't look like he was bludgeoned or stabbed or anything. Or fell."

"No blood except a little in the scratches," Dan agreed.

Sam searched the man's pockets. "No wallet, nothing," he said.

"So we better go back, now, right? And tell my Dad?" Sean said.

"At least one of us should go back," Sam agreed. "But maybe someone should stay here with the body."

"What, with a murderer around?" Sean asked. "Are you nuts?"

"How 'bout Sam takes more pictures," Dan proposed. "Then we take off with the evidence we've got. Nothin's gonna hurt this guy any more. If the body disappears, we at least know what he looked like. Besides, how far could he get in the next eight hours?"

Sam nodded. He raised his camera. Danny pulled a plastic tarp from his bag while Sam took pictures. When he finished, they wrapped the body.

"I feel bad just leavin' him," Sam said. He'd had to leave his mother, dead on the ground. This felt strangely like abandonment.

"It won't be long," Danny reassured him.


	3. Chapter 3

Mac bent over the fire pit by the cabin. He breathed deeply: cooked fish and woodsmoke. He never tired of those scents.

"Stop fussing with the fire, Mac. It's cooking fine," Chuck scolded him.

"Gotta keep the temperature even," Mac protested. He shifted the green boughs he'd used to suspend Chuck's fish over the coals.

Neil sat across from him, carrying plates and utensils. "Isn't it ready _yet_?" he asked. He put the plates on an upended log chunk beside him, and picked up a soda.

"Hey, where'd that come from?" Mac asked.

"I brought some out earlier," Chuck answered. "You want one?"

"Neil, wait a sec-" Mac began: too late. "Woah!" Soda sprayed from the can. It came down on their heads like a sticky rain.

Chuck fell off his log laughing, one hand to his bald pate. Mac ducked, but it was no use. He'd gotten the worst of the fountain: his hair and shirt were soaked. He grinned. It was a good joke, after all.

"You did that on purpose!" Neil accused.

"What, me?" Chuck played innocent. "How was I to know warm soda explodes?"

Neil whipped the rest of the soda at his friend, laughing. "You know as well as I do that was an accident! I never meant to pop your pop!"

Mac remembered that day: they'd been out in the woods, with Jesse, fishing. It was a long, lazy summer day: their eleventh year. Chuck had brought four hard-earned bottles of pop from his father's store. As they built the fire, Neil had placed two of those bottles just outside the fire-ring. When the fish was ready, he and Chuck had opened the pop: with explosive results.

"Jesse and I shared ours," Mac chuckled. "We all got some soda, and we all got a science lesson."

"As I recall, you were the only one more fascinated than upset," Chuck remembered.

"I dunno. I thought it was pretty cool," Neil said.

"Jesse and I wanted to explode ours too, remember? But you wouldn't let us," Mac reminded Chuck.

"Okay, so I was the only one cranky about it," Chuck conceded. "How's lunch, Mac?"

"Fish is ready," Mac said, poking at the foil. They served themselves, crowding around the fire.

"Food first, then a swim," Chuck said, carefully separating the flesh from the bones.

"What would Jesse be like today, if he'd lived?" Neil wondered aloud.

"How could we know? He was just a kid," Chuck answered.

"Come on, Chuck, we're still the same people we were as kids, at least in some ways. I still fiddle around and invent stuff."

"You still love fishing, Chuck. And you still get testy when things go wrong. Or the conversation takes a turn you don't like." Neil grinned at him.

"You still like being the authority," Chuck said. "The brave one. Cop to the rescue..."

Neil's face fell. "I didn't feel so brave when Jesse died. I ran."

"I know," Chuck agreed quietly. "So did I."

"I often wonder... would Jesse have lived if we stayed and helped? Would he, Mac?"

"I don't think so, Neil."

"But he didn't die until after you reached the road," Neil said. "I know, I looked up the hospital records."

"Come on, you two, you're being morbid," Chuck complained.

"I don't see how. That death shaped me. I hated myself for running, for a long while."

"It shaped me too," Mac said. "That I'd been so stupid, and careless. It was my idea to get the gun, my idea to take it to the back woods. That's the reason I didn't run: because I was responsible."

"We were all responsible," Neil said.

"Of course we were," Chuck said. "And of course we al felt guilty, and of course Jesse's death shaped us. But that's no reason to dwell on it. It's the present that's important. We all have family and friends who need us."

"I can't quibble with that," Neil answered. "You've done that best of all of us."

"I've been running all my life," Mac said, remembering the words of his teenage friend Jennifer. "Running away from the fear of death. Not my own: the people I care about. Makes it really hard to have a long-term relationship."

"Is that why you never stayed with Sam's mother?" Neil asked.

"Kate was running from death too. She understood—her parents and her younger sister had just been killed by a drunk driver when we met. I think she knew I wasn't ready to commit to a family, a settled life. I don't think _she_ was ready. But when Sam came along, she made the most of the situation. That's just the way she did things."

"Didn't she think that you would do the same?"

"She knew I would drop everything for her-for them," Mac answered quietly. He stared out at the lake. "I think that's why she never told me about them."

"Because she didn't want to push you? Or because she wanted you to come freely?"

"Both."

"Mac," Chuck said. "When are you going to focus on the present? Sam needs you _now_. You're needed by the living, not the dead."

"I know that," Mac said. "I'm trying to change."

"Does that mean you're going to settle down and get married, finally?" Neil teased, gently.

Mac chuckled. "Doubtful. I think I've missed all the chances I'm going to get."

"Hah." Chuck snorted. "Don't kid yourself, Mac. You're still an eligible bachelor. You're the tall, strong, and silent type-and easy to look at. Start looking, and you'll find someone."

Sam, Danny, and Sean set a quick pace through the trees. Their boots, thankfully, had remained dry; their damp clothes, however, hung uncomfortably even in the warm June air.

From the corner of his eye, Sam saw movement. He turned: nothing there. He jogged to keep up with the others.

"Dan," Sean said, "I gotta tell you something."

"Yeah? What's that?" Danny asked.

Somewhere to the right of the trail, twigs snapped. This time Sam stopped to scan the bushes.

"I think I know how the guy died," Sean said.

_Snap_. Someone was moving around back there.

"Hold up a sec," Sam called.

Dan yelled. From atop the enormous boulder in front of them, three figures launched themselves. Sam dropped his pack and ran to Danny's aid, right behind Sean. Dan ducked the first punch. Then all six were engaged. Sam blocked a swipe from a switchblade. He punched the guy in the solar plexus, then rammed his knife hand against the boulder. The knife dropped. His opponent punched, ineffectually, at Sam's side; Sam grunted. He launched off his back legs. His full weight knocked the guy into the boulder. Sam followed with an uppercut. He winced at the crack of the guy's head against rock. The attacker fell, so much dead weight.

Sean yelled. He was grappling with the second attacker. Blood trickled down his arm. Sam grabbed the guy's knife hand from behind. He locked his other arm around the guy's neck. Sean punched with his good hand; the guy grunted and doubled over. He kept going, wriggling free of Sam's hold. His arm swung wildly around. Sam leaped back, barely avoiding the swipe of the blade. A sudden crack, and the guy fell face forward, revealing Sean behind him, holding a heavy branch.

"Good one, man," Sam gasped.

Danny yelled again. Sean and Sam swerved around the bend in the trail, around the boulder. Sam caught himself against Sean, who'd stopped short. The third attacker held Danny from behind, knife blade to his neck.

"Gimme the stash," the guy said. His dark eyes widened, wild and red-rimmed. He couldn't be more than a few years older than Sam. "Gimme the stash, or I'll kill him."

Sam raised his arms at his sides, palms up. "What stash?" he asked.

"Gimme the stash!"

"All right!" Sean said. "Just let him go." He shrugged off his pack. From the front pocket, he pulled a plastic ziplock. He dangled it in front of him by one corner: small jars and packets rattled inside. Then he tossed it to the side of the trail.

The guy stared, wild-eyed, first at the bag on the ground, then at Sean, then back again. Suddenly he pushed Danny away. He ran, scooping up the bag as he went, and crashed through the bushes downhill.

Danny knelt on the trail, coughing. Sean knelt beside him. "Danny? You okay? Danny?"

"What the _hell_ were you doing with those drugs?" Danny demanded, hoarse and angry. He stood, pushing Sean away with one arm. Sam took a half-step forward.

Sean stood, hangdog. "I was going to tell you. I was about to tell you. I just had to work myself up to it," he said.

"You didn't think we needed to know back when we found the dead guy?" Dan yelled.

Sean flinched. "I knew. It's just hard, Dan. It's still hard."

"What's hard?" Sam asked softly.

Sean rubbed his hand through his hair. "I was an addict, once. Having that stuff just fall in my lap... It's hard to just... turn away from it. Let it go."

"Are you still using?" Dan asked. He grabbed Sean by the shirt and shook him. "Look at me! Are you still using?"

Sean looked Danny in the eye. "I've been clean since the day you got shot," he said. "I swear it."

Dan stared at Sean, searching. He released him, deflating. Then he grabbed Sean behind the neck and pulled him close. "All right. All right."

"I'm sorry Dan," Sean said. "I am."

"Let it go," Dan said. "Where's the other two punks?"

Sam turned on his heel, suddenly worried they'd be ambushed again. They'd left the knives on the ground... But there was nothing to worry about, both were still out cold.

"Addicts, all of 'em." Dan pronounced.

"They got a big stash," Sean said. "A fortune. They might be out here avoiding the dealers, if they crossed 'em."

"You said you knew how the guy died?" Sam prompted.

"Overdose, I bet," Sam said. "The others prob'ly hid his body, after."

"So now what?" Dan asked. "We aren't carryin' these two back with us."

"Take the knives," Sean said.

"Take pictures," Sam added, pulling out his camera again. He got good pictures of each ot their faces while Danny and Sean put the knives carefully into a plastic bag and packed them in Dan's bag. Then he popped out the film and stowed it in a canister in his pocket. He loaded a fresh roll.

"Should we tie 'em up?" Sean asked.

"Their buddy could just cut 'em free again."

"Yeah, but would he? Ten-to-one he's high again."

"Might keep 'em from following us," Dan conceded. "We have rope."

"Back-to-back around that big tree," Sam suggested.

"And then we hoof it home," Sean said.

Mac pulled himself onto the dock beside Chuck and Neil after a long leisurely swim. They'd all enjoyed the cool water in the midday heat. Chuck was lying back with his eyes closed and his feet in the water: he might be taking a nap. Neil watched the far shore with a look of concern.

"What is it?" Mac asked. He followed Neil's gaze. A snowy egret splashed in the shallow water.

"I think it's caught in something," Neil said. "It's been doing that for three or four minutes, now. I'll get the field glasses." He walked to the picnic table, where he'd left his bag, pulled the binocs out, and trained them on the bird.

Mac joined him. "Can you see what's up?" he asked.

"No," Neil said. "But it's not moving its feet properly."

"I'll go check it out," Mac said. He pulled his pocket knife from his jeans, which he'd discarded on the beach, and tucked it in the pocket of his swim trunks.

"We can go in the dory," Neil offered. "The rocks are treacherous along the shore, there."

"Okay," Mac agreed. They stepped carefully over Chuck on their way to the boat.

"Where you goin'?" Chuck asked, arm draped over his eyes.

"Humanintarian mission to the bird kingdom," Neil told him. He put the binoculars on the dock beside Chuck's head. "Here, you can follow our progress if you want."

"Don't get into trouble," Chuck warned, not stirring.

"Watch your feet. There's piranhas." Neil teased.

"Ha ha." Chuck kicked up a small splash.

The early afternoon sun beat down on them. Mac was glad he'd applied sunscreen, but wished he'd thought to take a hat. The bird still stood by the shore, flapping its wings ineffectually. "It's tangled in something," Mac told Neil as Neil stowed an oar, letting them drift.

"Maybe fishing line," Neil agreed.

The bird eyed them warily as they approached. "It's all right," Mac crooned to it-not sure this would help, but wiling to try. The bird was, indeed, tangled in a long length of discarded fishing line that hung from the low branches.

Neil snorted in disgust. "Couldn't cast properly, and couldn't clean up after himself. Some fisherman deserves a double stupid award," he said in a low voice.

"Can you get us right up close?" Mac asked.

"Slow and steady," Neil said. The oars made barely a ripple as Neil guided the boat into the shallows. He caught the branches to anchor them.

Mac watched the egret. Her muscles bunched. She lunged. Mac, anticipating, caught her by the neck. Her wings and feet were tangled. Blood stained the feathers in several places.

"Be careful. She's got talons, too," Neil reminded him.

Mac took the knife from his pocket and snapped it open. He cut the line around her feet first. When she lunged again, he pulled her back tight against his chest, feet and beak facing away from him. Quickly he cut the bindings around her wings.

She lunged again, this time with power. Unable to hold her, Mac let go. He cried out at a sharp pain under his arm. Then she was free. He watched her glorious flight over the lake. She was pure beauty.

"You're bleeding," Neil exclaimed.

Mac looked down. He'd been ignoring the stinging, throbbing pain in his chest. A hook was lodged in the flesh under his collarbone. It had opened a two-inch gash from the place where it had caught first, just under his arm. "I guess I missed cutting the piece with the hook."

"Looks like she caught _you_. Too bad the line didn't break faster. That's gonna need stitches."

"Ouch." Mac covered it with his hand and pressed on the arteries leading in to slow the bleeding. "Ow."

"Yeah. Hang on, we'll be back in a few minutes." Neil pulled hard on the oars, turning them and setting them moving. "I should have thought to bring the first aid kit. Stupid."

"I'll live," Mac said.

Chuck was waiting for them when they got back to the dock. "I watched your little escapade with the field glasses. Didn't I tell you to stay out of trouble?" he scolded.

"I'm fine," Mac complained. He climbed out of the dory.

"You will be, anyway. Good for you I'm EMT certified," Neil said. "Now sit down and let me sew you up."

Mac bit his tongue and sat at the picnic table. In a few minutes Neil returned from the cabin with freshly scrubbed hands and a large first aid kit. The kit was impressively complete. Neil wiped everything liberally with alcohol, spread the needed tools on a sterile bandage, quick and efficient, and cleaned the wound.

"Hang on, this is gonna hurt," Neil warned. Mac took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Chuck took his arm. "Ow!" he cried out, feeling the pinch of the needle.

"Teach you to help some strange bird," Chuck teased.

"It was worth it. Ow!"

"Almost done," Neil told him.

A minute later, it was over. Neil wiped the blood from his shoulder and side while Mac tried to relax.

"Where'd all these scars come from?" Neil asked, falsely casual.

"I can do that," Mac said, reaching for the alcohol wipe.

"It's done," Neil said. He didn't let go of Mac's arm, though. MacGyver watched his friend study his skin. He tried to think of something to say. "These are gunshot wounds, Mac. I count at least five on this side. Some of them went through." Neil checked his back with a sharp eye.

"There's a bunch of nasty-looking scars on this side, too," Chuck said slowly.

MacGyver shifted uncomfortably.

"So how many times have you got yourself shot?" Neil asked.

Mac hesitated.

"Five?" Neil studied his face. "Ten? Fifteen?" Brows raised, he asked, incredulous, "Twenty? Thirty? Okay, not that many..."

"Hey Neil," Chuck joked, "Can you teach me to do that with my kids?"

Neil rolled his eyes. "Okay, so you've gotten in the way of a gun at least twenty, twenty-five times. Cop gets hit more than a handful of times, we say he has a death wish. I've never actually _met _anyone who's gotten more."

"I thought you avoided combat in 'Nam? Weren't you on the bomb squad?" Chuck asked

"Yeah," Mac answered shortly. He pushed the hair from his face.

"So when did it happen?" Neil asked. "Vietnam? No? Recently?"

"Neil, I'd rather not get into this."

Silence ensued. Mac felt the pressure of his friends' attention. Both Neil and Chuck were staring at him with expressions of mingled concern and exasperation.

"Why not?" Neil asked softly.

MacGyver tried to think of some honest way to keep them from digging into his classified past. The only way he could think of was a partial truth-and that was uncomfortable. But Neil and Chuck were waiting. It was clear they weren't going to let this one go.

"Some of the work I've done for Phoenix was rather... dangerous," he answered.

"Like exposing Danny Barrett's killer?" Neil asked.

"Like a lot of things. It's complicated."

"That's what you _always_ say," Chuck exploded. When Mac didn't immediately answer, he frowned and turned away.

"Like..." MacGyver took a deep breath. "Like a couple years ago, I was helping with a Truth and Reconciliation commission in Romania. And, well, there were some people with guns... who didn't like that."

Chuck stiffened and turned around, staring. "They came after you?"

"Nothing that personal. They stormed the government center where we were working," Mac said.

"How many died?" Neil asked.

"Half a dozen guards. A few of the militants."

"And you were shot." Neil said.

"Yeah," Mac said. He put a hand to his wounded shoulder. The scar he'd received from Viktor that day was only a few inches from his new stitches. It was a painful souvenir: memory of a stolen life, that had ended far too soon. Such memories were thick on his skin. He tried not to dwell on that fact.

"But that's nothing to be ashamed of," Chuck said.

"It's not that I'm ashamed of what happened," MacGyver said slowly. "It's just..."

"Complicated," Chuck finished for him.

"Yeah," Mac said sheepishly.

Neil looked thoughtful, now. "That's once. What about the other twenty-something times? Were they all diplomatic missions?"

"No, Neil, you know they weren't," Mac conceded. "But would you please let it go, now? Or are you going to keep me here until I tell you my life story?"

"I get the feeling your life story would be well worth hearing," Chuck said.

"Dad!" Sean yelled from the path. He and the other two boys ran toward them. They looked upset. Mac snagged his shirt and pulled it on as he walked with Neil and Chuck to join them.

"What's wrong?" Neil asked. "You're back early. What happened to your arm?"

A bloody strip of cloth bound Sean's upper arm, Mac saw, as they approached. He glanced sharply at Sam, behind Danny.

"There's a dead guy at the caves," Sean said. "And some druggies tried to jump us. I'll be all right," he said, brushing off Neil's attempt to check the bandage..

"He died really recently," Sam added. "I took pictures."

"You sure you're all right?" Neil asked.

"It's not deep," Sean said. "I'll live."

"All right, I'll call the station. Clean up, we'll talk in five." Neil left for his truck, behind the cabin.

Mac and Chuck fell in with the boys on their way to the cabin. "Are the rest of you okay?" Chuck asked.

"We're fine," Danny said. "Just a little wigged out."


End file.
